Lock, Stock and Two Croaking Rednecks
by Lady Whumpalot
Summary: A romantic weekend in the mountains does not turn out as expected, and an old firearm shows up where it is not supposed to. Classic physical whump'em up. Shawn & Juliet with a bit of Shules, nothing explicit. Gus & Lassiter, Henry & Declan. No slash. R&R!
1. Prologue: How Not to Get Lost

_A romantic weekend in the mountains does not turn out as expected, and an old firearm shows up where it is not supposed to. Classic physical whump 'em up, adhering to canon to the best of my knowledge. Follow-up to "Mr. Yin 3 in 2D" (but not a Yin/Yang story) with references to "Shawn Takes a Shot in the Dark". _

_There is no pineapple hidden in this story. _

_This is purely for fun and entertainment. Sadly I'm not making any money with this. It does get me through those night shifts, though._

_Alternative Chapters – How To:_

_This story has been going into unexpected directions various times. It all started with an image I had in mind of Shawn and Juliet walking into town torn and beaten with everybody staring at them. In the process of getting them there, the story kept taking turns for the worse (for the unlucky couple, that is), and at some point I could not see it happening like this any longer. Still, that image had been burned into my mind, and I had to get it out of my system. That said, consider chapter 7a (Stay the Night) the one that came more natural to me with the rest of the story, and chapter 7b (Leave this Place) the one that would not go down without a fight. The epilogue works with both of them._

**Lock, Stock and Two Croaking Rednecks**

**Prologue – How Not to Get Lost**

**1990**

Mosquitoes the size of small birds hummed around Shawn's head. He slapped himself on the neck and smushed one, leaving a blood stain on his skin that made him look like he had only seconds left to live. The sun immediately dried the blood and made it pinch the small hairs on his neck.

"Okay, I think I got it now. Zigzag, run like hell, it's not that hard, really."

His father had caught up with him and was watching him intently, breathing hard. "It's not difficult, true, but it's something you need to be told at some point, and this is the time. This is just so you know what to do when you get into trouble and how to do it. It's all about being prepared, son."

"So now that I know what to do when someone's chasing me, can we go home?"

"Not yet. What do you do if you get lost and you want to be found?"

"Call for help?"

"What if there's nobody around to hear you?"

Shawn crossed his arms, looked at the ground and kicked a stone. It hit another stone, a fir cone and yet another stone. What a sad place to be. "You really hate me, don't you? First there's bad guys chasing me through the forest, now there's nobody there to hear me call for help. What's next? A bear attack?"

His father smiled. "Not yet."

Shawn rolled his eyes.

"I'll make it short," Henry said conciliatory. "These are the basic rules: first, retrace your steps. Always memorize landmarks, directions, the position of the sun, anything that might be helpful. If you're not able to retrace your steps, stay put and let your friends find you. Also stay where you are if you're injured or exhausted. Stop moving at nightfall or you'll completely lose your way."

"Now here's a thought. What do I do if there's more than one person looking for me? You know, one that I want to find me and one really bad person? And I don't have any idea where I am?"

"You don't want to let that happen in the first place. Always remember where you are and where you need to go, and you'll be able to walk around the bad guys and find your rescuers."

"Walk around them, right. What if they have guns, outnumber me and know the place better than I do?"

His father frowned. "Stop making fun of this, Shawn. I can't think of a way how you might possibly maneuver yourself into that situation."


	2. Chapter 1: Young Love and Old Weaponry

**Young Love and Old Weaponry**

**2011**

A giant mosquito turned into a huge yellow stain on the windshield. Shawn registered this with some satisfaction. The only reliable means of getting rid of those pests were high speed and a hard surface.

"Are you going to tell me now where we're going?" Juliet asked. She was sitting on the passenger seat of her own car, looking somewhat disturbed because he had insisted on driving. "After you told me not to wear heels, I'd like to know if I packed the right clothes."

He turned his head and smiled at her. "These," he said, dangling a key ring with two keys from his right middle finger, "belong to a small, cozy cabin out in the forest somewhere along Pine Mountain Ridge. With any luck, it won't matter what you packed."

"You're impossible." She poked him in the arm. "Nice idea, though, to take a weekend off. How did Gus take it?"

"He wept a little."

Juliet laughed. "No, he didn't."

"No, he didn't. But the old puppy-eye routine almost worked." He swayed his head. "Made me want to take him along."

"I'm glad you didn't." She stroked his neck just below the hairline. "We need some time off." She paused. "Why are you driving so slowly?"

"Take a look in the mirror. The red pick-up truck? Those guys were there when I picked up the keys down in Ojai, and they've been following us."

"But why?"

"I have no… here we go." The truck sped up and overtook them, still accelerating when it vanished around the next turn. "No reason to go all detective on the redneck folk."

"Redneck – we're still in California and barely thirty miles out of town, Shawn. You can't start calling everyone we meet here a redneck."

"Of course not. Only the ones in red pick-up trucks wearing flannel shirts and greasy trucker hats."

"They did?"

"Oh yes, they did."

She laughed again. Then she fell silent. "This is our first time away from everything," she finally said. "We'll need to talk."

"Already?"

"Not like that. We do need to get some things straight, though."

"What kinds of things?" Shawn shifted a little in his seat.

"Where all this is going and what we want in this relationship, for example. How we're supposed to work together and what will happen when everybody knows are on my list, too."

"I was hoping we could just wait and see what happens." He tried a coy smile, but it did not work on Juliet right now.

"This is too complicated to wait and see," she said. "Promise me that we'll talk seriously about this."

"Okay, promise. If you promise to make your brother keep Lassie from killing me – or himself – when he finds out."

"I'll see what I can do."

"That sounded enthusiastic."

"I don't believe Carlton will go into shock or on a shooting spree just because he finds out we're a couple. In fact, he must have seen it coming."

"Oh, really?" The benign surprise in Shawn's voice was only marginally over the top.

Juliet ignored it. "Definitely. He'll be good."

* * *

><p>Detective Carlton Lassiter's hands were shaking. "Oh my God. This – this can't be true," he stammered.<p>

"What is it, Sir?" Buzz McNab asked nervously. The tall police officer was standing in front of Lassiter's desk, fiddling around with an evidence bag.

Lassiter raised another one, which he was holding. "You say this was found at the scene of a liquor store robbery? If this is some elaborate plan to take me for a ride, you better tell me right now, Officer", he said lowly with a threatening tone in his voice, "or there will be maiming."

"What – no, Sir, I never would", Buzz assured. "I just know that you're good with old guns, and as this clearly is an old gun, well, not Civil War old, but still old, I thought I'd take it to you rather than googling it."

"Google it?" Lassiter looked at him, honestly appalled. "Mr. McNabb, this might just be the most expensive handgun in existence. If it's real, that is. Look", Carlton offered the bag to Buzz, but did not let go when his colleague wanted to take it. "No, don't touch, just look. This is a .45 ACP Luger. These were tested back in the early 20th century for their suitability for military purposes. When the manufacturer, DWM, withdrew from the trial, they stopped producing this gun. Only five, maybe six were ever made. One of them, bearing the serial number 1, was destroyed after the tests. Three or four others are not accounted for. Serial number 2 is the only one that is known to have survived until today, and it is worth a fortune."

"And this is it?"

"No. Look closer. Here, on the frame under the left grip."

Buzz looked closer, and then raised his head again. It took him a second or two to process the information, and when the result came in, he swallowed hard. "Wow."

"Yes, wow." Lassiter carefully placed the bag with the gun on the desktop. "Serial number one. If this is real," he repeated, "we have more than one mystery on our hands. One being how and why this pistol was saved from destruction. Next - who had it in possession over all these years, and why he kept it a secret. But first and foremost, how in all the world did it get into the hands of somebody who would lose it while trying to rob a liquor store? We'll have to get this into the lab and checked for authenticity."

"That will take some time", McNabb replied. "The forensic analysts have their hands full with the Antonelli shooting. What a mess."

"Well, then make this a top priority", Lassiter growled. "But as for a quick check..." He picked up the telephone receiver and dialed a number.

"Who are you calling?"

"Spencer," he grumbled.

"Which one?"

"The more annoying one. Which one do you think?"

Buzz knew when to leave. "I'll speak with the analysts", he said and fled the room.

The phone rang several times, but all Lassiter got was Spencer's voicemail. "Fantastic," he murmured. "Why is it that this psycho only shows up when he is not wanted?" He dialed another number. "Guster," he said when the phone was picked up. "I need to speak with Spencer. Where is he?"

"He went away for the weekend," Gus replied. "He wouldn't tell me where he was going, though."

"Oh, you finally underwent surgery? Congratulations! Who got to keep the colon? Or was it a lung you were sharing?"

Gus sighed. "There's a woman involved."

"Oh." An image that he had tried to repress forced its way back into his consciousness. Spencer in the interrogation room – with O'Hara. Kissing. Lassiter's sarcasm dissipated. "Oh," he repeated. Silence followed.

"Are you still there?" Gus asked after a while.

"He told you," Lassiter snarled.

"Told me what? Where he was going?"  
>"Oh, come on. The other… thing."<p>

"He may have. But how do you -"

"Tell this disgrace to mankind that if he blows this, I'm going to club him to death with his own arms, and psychic or not, he will not see it coming", Lassiter said in a friendly voice.

"O-okay."

"So, where were you saying he went?"

"Honestly, I don't know. He was very secretive about this."

"Fantastic." Lassiter hung up. He slammed a fist on the table, then buried his face in his hands. The world was rapidly going down the drain. Potentially priceless pistols were used by petty criminals, O'Hara had completely lost her mind and/or her good taste, and he was sitting at his desk on a Friday night pondering over the authenticity of a gun that was not even supposed to exist. And making up silly alliterations, as he realized when he reconsidered his last thought. If he wanted to make any progress in this case, he would have to do research. And he needed some action anyway.

"McNabb," he shouted.

"Yes, Sir?"

Lassiter had not really expected him to still be within earshot. "Weren't you going to speak with the analysts?"

"I've done that, Sir. They will take a look at the gun as soon as they can squeeze it in, but they'll have to wait until tomorrow morning before they can contact a gun expert in Los Angeles."

"That was impossibly fast," Lassiter commented. "However, I'll be working overtime tonight. Get me everything you have on that liquor store robbery. Who's working on the case?"

"Carter, Sir."

"Not anymore. You get the gun to the analysts. I'll pay the store a visit. Let's see if we can find the little punk who tried to rob it and track down the owner of that gun."


	3. Chapter 2:  Couple, Interrupted

**Couple, Interrupted**

"This is our exit," Shawn declared, indicated right and pulled the Civic onto a narrow unsurfaced track that opened up between the trees. Gravel crunched under the car's wheels, and Juliet spent the next few minutes wondering silently if Shawn had in fact any idea where he was going.

She saw it coming, but there was no time to think or react. She could not even raise her arms in defense. The red pickup crashed into the left side of their car, virtually coming out of nowhere. Then something funny happened with time and sound: both just ceased to exist. There should have been the screaming of torn metal, the crash of glass being shattered, the scratching of tires on loose soil, the cracking of the airbags being deployed. But although, in no particular order, all of this happened, Juliet did not even hear the throbbing of her own heart in her ears. She was all vision, felt no commotion or pain when the car was pushed off the road, slammed into the trees that bordered the trail and came to an abrupt halt.

Then time and sound returned to the world. A few seconds passed as Juliet counted to three with her eyes closed, making sure she was alive and not severely injured. When she looked up and to the left, she saw blood on Shawn's face and shirt, but his eyes were open, and he was breathing hard. She fumbled for the lock of her seatbelt. "Are you alright?" she asked. Silence and his blank gaze gave her the answer. "It's okay", she said. "You're going to be fine. Let's get out of the –" She spotted the red truck standing on the road, its front a little dented but other than that without any visible damage. Two men were climbing out of the car in this instant. Checked flannel shirts – one red, one blue –, trucker hats, rifles. The whole redneck routine. Juliet spat out a curse for not having taken her gun with her and pushed the door open. A cry of pain escaped her when a part of the plastic door covering, which had been stuck in her right thigh without her noticing, was now rudely pulled out. Blood had soaked the right leg of her pants and was dripping to the ground, but it did not appear to be arterial. She got out of the car, tried the leg and found that she could stand and walk without problems. So far, so good. Or maybe not, as she was looking into the muzzles of two rifles pointed at her face at a distance of a little more than five yards. "What do you want of us?" she snapped.

"You're coming with us," said the blue shirt, which was filled with about 6 feet and 250 pounds of black-bearded menace.

Juliet looked back at the Civic.

"Not him. Just you."

"Me? Why?"

"Jules?" A blood-covered face appeared in the broken window on the driver's side.

"Stay in the car, Shawn", she warned him. But of course, the door opened, and Shawn approached her with slow, careful steps. She stepped between him and the two men. Although she did not know what was going on, they appeared to have no use for him. Being expendable when there were heavy firearms involved was not a situation to walk into without a cover.

"Get over here!" Blue Shirt yelled.

"Whatever it is you want, you'll have to take both of us to get it", Juliet shouted back.

"What's going on?" Shawn asked lowly.

She scrutinized him. Life had returned into his eyes, but he was a little unsteady on his feet. "Let me handle it just this once," she said under her breath. "I don't think you'll be able to talk our way out of this one." She turned to face the gunmen. "So?" she asked loudly.

The men put their heads together and started whispering, Blue Shirt gesticulating with his free hand. Then they both laughed. "Fine", Blue said. "Have it your way. Just get the hell moving."

Juliet took Shawn's hand, keeping him behind her, and started walking towards the men. The two kept holding them at gunpoint, and she soon realized that the chances of overwhelming them were practically nonexistent.

This was coincidentally the moment in which she also realized that Shawn had let go of her hand and was tackling Red. Or at least he tried to. He did not even get close. Red casually stepped back, raised his rifle and battered him in the face. Shawn tried to dodge the blow, and the stock merely struck his cheekbone, but right now, that did the job just as well. He dropped to the ground face down. Red kicked him in the ribs.

"Stop it!" Juliet yelled and made a step toward him, and Blue grabbed her by the arm. "He's out cold, what more do you want?" She tried to break free, but Blue's grasp was too firm.

"Watch it, girl," he said. "You don't want to cause more trouble than you're worth."

Puzzle pieces started to shift into place. Juliet hesitated. "And how much would that be?" she asked.

"Lots, I hope. Now get on the car." He pushed her toward the truck bed. She climbed up, and he nodded to her. "Cell." She handed him her phone without further resistance, and he threw it to the ground and crushed it with the heel of his boot. Then he pulled out a cable tie and tied her wrists in front of her. Her ankles came next. Meanwhile, Red had emptied the pockets of Shawn's cargo pants. His cell suffered the same fate as Juliet's, his Swiss and wallet wandered into Red's pockets. He dragged Shawn to the car, heaved him on the bed and tied his hands and feet. A tarp was pulled over them. For a while, nothing happened. Then a metallic scraping told her that the truck's winch was pulled out. Of course – they were covering their tracks and taking the Honda with them.

Juliet figured they were safe for now. There was obviously a kidnapping in progress here, although right now, she had no idea why it was her they wanted and who they would turn to with the ransom note. Abducting a police officer was not exactly the smartest move. And although Red and Blue were certainly not the sharpest knives in the drawer, they could hardly be that stupid. In fact, she did not believe that they knew she was a cop. For some reason, she did not even have the impression that this had been in any way planned.

The truck's engine roared and they started to move. Juliet shifted a little so that she could look at Shawn. The tarp took away some of the fading daylight, yet it was bright enough underneath to see that he was still bleeding. With her hands tied, it required some patience, but she managed to tear several strips of cloth from his shirt. The wound was hidden below thick hair, so she rolled up one of the cloth pieces and pressed it on the spot where most of the blood seemed to come from, fixing it with an improvised head bandage. Another strip of cloth effectively stopped the bleeding from the flesh wound on her thigh. The pain was bearable, and she allowed herself to get weary. With a sigh, she leaned against the tailboard and bedded Shawn's head on her lap. As the truck rumbled along, Juliet tried to memorize the way, but all she could see when she lifted the tarp as far as she dared to were trees. At least she could conclude from the position of the setting sun that they were still going east.

Then, with some delay, it all started to make sense. Juliet suddenly had a vivid idea of who the ransom note would go to. She uttered a nervous chuckle. If they got out of this in one piece, there would be a lot of explaining necessary afterwards.

The liquor store was a flat building right next to a Taco Bell. A short, balding man in his mid forties was standing behind the counter. Lassiter approached him with firm steps and his badge held out in front of him. "Detective Lassiter, SBPD. I have a few more questions about the robbery."

"The attempted robbery."

"He didn't actually steal anything?"

The man shook his head. "The scumbag actually tried to shoot me. That ancient trash gun of his failed, though. While he was still fumbling with it, I had plenty time to show him this." He pulled out a rifle from under the counter, and Lassiter pushed it down with one hand.

"Alright, I've seen it. Now put it back, man. This is a police investigation, not an NRA meeting."

Lassiter's cell phone rang, and he pulled it out of his pocket. "Yes. Mr. Rand, I'm somewhat busy right now. Could you –what?" He listened. "Yes, I'm as shocked as you are. … No, about the kidnapping, mostly. … They offered you what? I can't believe I'm saying this, but I hope you didn't take them up on that offer. … Good. I'll send you a team so we can trace the next call. … What do you mean, you already traced it? … A one-way cell phone, of course. From where? Simi Valley. Good. I'll inform the local police, but to be honest, I doubt that the kidnapper is stupid enough to call from his hiding place. You stay put with your phone and your… tracking device, just let me do the rest of the police work. I'll get back to you."

Lassiter ended the call and dialed again. "Guster. This is serious. Spencer and O'Hara have been kidnapped. If you have any idea where they might be, you have to tell me right now."

"Oh, that's cheap. Even for you."

"I am not making this up. Rand called me, there's a ransom demand. They want two million dollars if O'Hara is to be released."

"What about Shawn?"

"They offered to kill him for an additional 500 grand."

"I very much hope Declan's not paying that."

"He's undecided."

"I'll be right there. Where are you?"

"Meet me at the police station. Oh, and Guster, do me two favors."

"Yes, Sir?"

"Do not call Henry Spencer. And don't wear your pajamas."


	4. Chapter 3:  How Happy I Am that We

**How Happy I Am That We Covered Our Tracks**

Shawn had never stuck his head inside a ringing church bell, but he was getting a pretty good idea of what it might feel like. His skull had turned into a huge resonant cavity for his heartbeat, and his eyes seemed to be vibrating, too, because when he opened them, they would not focus, no matter how hard he tried. But then again, it was nearly pitch dark, with only a little moonlight coming through a window and giving contours to the room he was in. He closed his eyes and concentrated. What had happened? He remembered driving Juliet's car, then came an enormous blackout. Not very helpful. So where was he now? His hands were tied behind his back, and he was sitting on a chair. Serious déjà vu here. He smelled wood, sweat – probably his own –, blood – definitely his own –, dust, the humid odor of nature. Plus Juliet. He raised his head.

"Jules? Tell me again why we're tied to chairs?"

"Oh my God, Shawn. I thought you were never going to wake up," came the reply from behind him. Apparently they were sitting back to back.

"How long was I out?"

"I'm not sure. Three or four hours maybe. You must be badly concussed."

"Figure that. 'Cause here's the next question: why was I out?"

"Do the words redneck and red pickup truck ring a bell?"

Shawn winced. "Don't use the words 'ring' and 'bell' right now, please." Nevertheless, images started to flash in front of his inner eye. The two flannel guys standing on the sidewalk when he had picked up the keys for the cabin in Ojai, the pickup following them, something red smashing into the Honda, and the blackout again. He realized Juliet might be injured, too. "What about you? Are you alright?" he asked.

"Yes."

That was a little too short-spoken for his taste. "Jules," he inquired.

"It's a flesh wound. Nothing serious."

"I hope so. Because if it's anything more than that, I will have to kick some redneck ass." He made a dramatic pause. "But I'll probably do that anyway."

"No, you won't." He physically heard her smile. "Your legs are tied, you know?"

"Well, thanks for the discouragement. I don't think you're supposed to do that in a healthy relationship."

"One of them went away. I think he's placing a ransom call. The other one's right next door, I believe he's sleeping."

"Wow, that's an abrupt change of subject. Weren't you the one who wanted to talk things through?"

"Shawn, focus," she said in an urgent voice.

"Okay. Ransom call. What? Why? What do they want?"

"Well, experience shows that in most cases, kidnappers want money."

"Now you're being sarcastic, great."

"Sorry. There's something you need to know. They only wanted me – you're collateral booty."

That came unexpected. Shawn was stunned. "Okay, you just lost me. But keep explaining, I'll probably catch up at some point."

"I'm not entirely sure, but pretty confident about this. They must have seen me with, uh, Declan."

"What, here?"

"Down in Ojai. We were there a few weeks ago when he donated an MRI scanner to the hospital."

"Oh, he donated – great. So he's the reason we're in this mess now?"

"Partly, I guess. But it was your idea to go here for the weekend, so you can't really blame him alone."

"Well, I do."

"Shawn, please. I know that Declan will pay whatever they ask for, even though we're no longer together. We'll be fine."

"You will, yeah. What about me? They don't even know my name, and I'm wearing a red shirt. I'm screwed. Speaking of which - this is just like 'Deliverance', and I'm not sure yet whether I'm Ned Beatty or Ronny Cox."

"How about Kirstie Alley in 'Shoot to Kill'?"

"Do I look anything like Kirstie Alley? She was awesome in that one, though."

"Don't worry. Declan will go to the police, and they will trace our steps using your credit card information – or Gus's, for that matter, and start their search at the cabin. They'll find us in no time."

Shawn coughed slightly. "Well, about that…"

* * *

><p>Gus entered the hallway and steered directly towards Lassiter's corner. "Any luck yet?" he demanded.<p>

"Not a trace of them."

"Have you tried his credit card? Or mine?"

"We have. Nothing. I have to admit he is good at moving under the radar. We checked with every hotel, motel, cabin and camping site within a fifty mile radius of Santa Barbara. No Shawn Spencer or Juliet O'Hara checked in."

"Of course they didn't." Gus rubbed his temples. "He wouldn't even tell me where they were going, so he probably used fake names. We should ask for lists of everybody who checked in on Friday and paid cash, and look for something out of the ordinary."

"Aside from the fact that we'd have to go through hundreds of names – what do you consider 'out of the ordinary'? Lavender Gooms perhaps, or Seraphim Proudleduck?" Lassiter snorted.

„Not quite. I'll know when I see it."

"Oh, you'll know it when you see it. Now that's confident."

"I've known him for well over 30 years, I have all the reason to be confident…"

Lassiter gave a laconic laugh.

"To identify his alias, I mean." Gus placed his palms on the Detective's desk. "Look. We can narrow it down. I mean, a couple that doesn't get any private… quality time in their daily lives, where would they go for the weekend?"

"Although the bare thought curls my toenails," Lassiter shuddered, "- someplace secluded. A cabin perhaps, not some rotten out-of-the-way motel. The latter may be his style, certainly not hers."

"And we're back in the game. Make it a one hundred mile radius, get the fax machine ready and let me use a desk. Oh, and do you think you could get us some of these caramel-filled donuts?"

Lassiter returned an ice-blue look that would have sandblasted the finish off the Blueberry.

"I'm just saying this might take a few hours." Gus shrugged. "We might get hungry."

Not quite exactly forty-five minutes later, Gus leafed through a stack of faxes and printouts while his free hand was rummaging in a box with doughnuts.

"James Hattrick and Monica Roberts. No. Raphael Godin and Rebecca Bernsen. No. Carl and Maggie Fuller. Definitely not." Gus sighed, wet his finger and turned the page. "David Addison, Jr., and Madelyn Hayes."

"Wait. That's Moonlighting." Lassiter put his index finger on the paper.

"What?"

"Moonlighting. Bruce Willis and Cybill Shepherd. 1985 to 1989."

"I know that," Gus replied, a little miffed that the Detective had beaten him to this. "Why do you?"

"Oh, come on. Are you the only ones allowed to watch TV? Moonlighting is general knowledge, by the way. It's not like he had checked in as Barnabas Collins."

"Do you realize that this last sentence costs you the Moonlighting bonus you had just earned?"

"Let's skip the age and creepiness jokes and get right to the point where you tell me you're absolutely sure we just found Spencer and O'Hara."

"Positive. But if you want to be sure, why don't you roust the owner out of bed and fax him their pictures?"

"We'll have Riley do that while we're on the way. Let's get moving." Lassiter took his jacket from the back of the chair.

"Where are we going?"

"It's a cabin a little more than 30 miles north of Ojai just off the SR-33."

"You think they ever made it there?"

"The best we can do is follow their footsteps."

"Are we taking backup?"

"You bet."


	5. Chapter 4: Let Me Do the Talking, They

**Let Me Do the Talking, They'****re Gonna Kill Me Anyway**

A wooden squeal and the jiggling of his own chair told Shawn that Juliet was trying to free herself.

"Jules? Where exactly are we?" he asked.

"About twenty minutes east of the spot where they hit our car, and then a few more off the road. I kind of lost directions there."

"Not exactly where we were going, but close enough."

"By the way: how were you able to ID yourself as David Addison, Jr.?" she queried, finally giving up and only turning her head. He did the same so that they were now cheek to cheek.

"Well, I know this guy whom we helped prevent his sister from being framed for poisoning her neighbor's poodle. Long story, and trust me, you don't want to hear it. Anyway, turns out he makes driver's licenses. I ordered a few, just in case, and I really wanted to use one of them before they'd expire."

"Great," Juliet sighed.

"Don't be mad. They'll figure it out."

"Yes, but they're losing time. Sometimes I wish you could just grow up."

Shawn was about to start justifying himself when the door flew open, and the light was switched on. Not the worst timing, as he would have had a hard time explaining why he was not ready to grow up just yet. And that was because he did not have the slightest clue.

They could both see the door from where they were sitting. Shawn squinted into the light and looked at the man who was standing in the frame. Unsurprisingly, it was a familiar face. Black beard, blue checkered shirt.

"Eric!" the man yelled.

"Eric? Now that's not what I expected," Shawn murmured.

The only other door opened, and the other man came out of an adjacent room, the red of his beard clashing horribly with that of his shirt. "Bob? You're back already?"

"Yes, I'm back. What do you think you're doing? You were supposed to keep an eye on them."

"They're tied up, man. They're not gonna go anywhere."

While they were arguing, Shawn scanned the room for clues on their whereabouts or the kidnappers. With both doors still open, he could see for one thing that the second room was very small and almost empty. There was a mattress on the floor with a woolen blanket on it, without much room left for anything else. Another mattress was leaned to the wall, and half hidden behind it, there was a toolbox whose red paint was flaking off the rusting metal. In the main room, there were the two chairs they were tied to, a wooden table, and a naked light bulb on the ceiling. No bathroom, no kitchen equipment, no pictures on the wall, no trash, nothing whatsoever. Through the 'front' door, he could see only trees. That was not much to work with.

His thoughts were not exactly racing, but they did a pretty good job at crawling really fast. This cabin was not inhabited, but it was being maintained, as the roof and window were in a good condition. It had to be used as a shelter. He guessed that it belonged to Eric and Bob, and as they did not look like hikers, they probably used it when they went hunting. And for storing away hostages. Which, he presumed, was a first to them. They were unprepared, nervous, and they were making mistakes, such as giving away their names. These two had simply seized the opportunity and now did not really know what to do with it.

He cleared his throat. "When Silent Bob here is done having his fit, maybe we can talk a little?"

"Shut it!" Bob and Eric said in unison.

Shawn felt a pinch in his right thumb. It was Juliet who twisted the only part of his body she could get a hold of. "Stop it," she hissed. "You'll get us both killed."

"You're the one with the – probably obscenely high – ransom on her head," he hissed back. "I'm trying to make myself valuable."

"Stop talking, you two," said Bob, his rifle loosely in his right hand.

"I was just wondering if you've gotten an okay on that ransom demand. We have tickets for the Santa Barbara Pancake Exhibition on Sunday, you know."

"You better shut up, man. The deal is only about her. We might even get paid for killing you."

"What?" Shawn's jaw dropped.

"Yeah, that's right. My idea. Your dead body's worth half a million extra."

"And Rand's going to pay for that?"

"He's undecided," Bob said, thus confirming the theory that it was Declan they had called.

Shawn figured that Declan was buying them time. And he was going to use it. "Dude, that's the worst idea I've ever heard," he laughed. "What are you going to do if he doesn't pay?"

Bob stepped closer and now threateningly towered above him. "I might kill you anyway, just for the fun of it."

"That's what I thought. And I bet that's what he thought, too."

"So?"

"So? Bob, you're not going to get that extra money if you kill me, because he's counting on you doing me in anyway. If you leave me alive, though, that would open up some possibilities."

"Like what?"

Bingo. As Gus wasn't there to interfere, he thought it again. Bingo. "Like you offer him to kill me, and if he accepts, you take the money, release me, and I blackmail him for incitement to murder. He has a lot to lose and will pay whatever we ask for. Equal shares." He thought he could hear something bulge. It had to be Juliet's eyes. Fair enough, as this ranked pretty high in the list of the most brazen stunts he had ever pulled.

"Why should I trust you in that?" Bob demanded.

"Because your enemy's enemy is your friend. Not only is this guy the most bumptious, genteel," he was seriously running out of words, "gelled poser that I've ever met, I am also dating his ex girlfriend, whom I am sure he still wants back. Which I'm not going to let happen."

"Whose side is she on?"

"Hullo? She dumped him for me."

"I can speak for myself", Juliet chipped in. "If – IF he accepts to pay for Shawn's death, I'm on your side."

"See?" Shawn gave them a wide grin.

"We need to discuss that." Bob grabbed Eric by the sleeve of his shirt, dragged him towards the still open front door and outside. The door was pulled shut.

"Jules, that was awesome!" Shawn wriggled trying to turn around to her, then resorted to grabbing the first body part he could get a hold of. Which was accidentally, but not unluckily, her behind.

She flinched. "Shawn! I can't believe I'm playing along with this."

"You're doing fantastic."

"This I can't believe, either."

"Everything's cool. This is our ticket out of here."

"I very much hope so. Because you know just as well as I do that Declan will not have you killed. Which is pretty much what you just told them. And even though they're getting his motivation wrong, why in the world should they be in on that plan when you're basically telling them it's not going to work?"

"You're right. I kind of missed that detail, I guess. But hey, they haven't noticed, have they? I'll figure this out as I'm going along. Trust me, we'll walk out of this and be fine."

The door opened, and Bob and Eric stepped back inside.

Bob planted himself in front of Shawn and gave him a doubtful look. "You don't look like the blackmailing type."

"I'm not to be underestimated, you've got to look past the hair and the cute, cuddly thing - it's all a deceptive facade. Technique and killer instinct, I got it all. My body is a roadmap of pain."

"Dude, is that from the Frighteners movie?"

"Amongst others. Would you untie us?"

The surprise attack did not work. "No."

"Well then, I guess this means we get to keep the only chairs in the room." Bob laughed. Juliet did not believe her ears, but Shawn seized the opportunity. "Talking will be a lot easier if we both look in the same direction," he said. "Could you at least move the chairs?" Bob shrugged, and Eric cut the cable ties that were holding the chairs together and then shifted the chairs until they both faced the door. Shawn managed to assume an almost casual position although he was still tied up. "What do you guys need the money for, anyways?" he asked. "I mean, this cabin of yours isn't exactly Tim Burton's mansion, granted, but what's with the risk you're taking? If we don't revise your plan, you'll have the police on your hands before you can say sesquipedality."

"That's not even a real word."

"True. Bob, you must be the brains of the operation. Can I talk to you in private for a second? You know, like outside? Come on, this is about all of us walking out of this with our hands clean and our pockets filled with money." Bob hesitated when Eric gave him an uncomfortable look. Shawn silently formed the words "let's talk" with his lips and nodded towards the door.

Finally, Bob rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Eric."

His companion raised the knife he was holding. Shawn recognized his Swiss – seriously, should these guys not have their own really big hunting knives or something? "Don't do anything stupid", Eric said, and it was not obvious which one of the other men he was addressing. Then he cut Shawn loose.

Shawn stood up very carefully, partly because there were two guns pointed at him again, partly because the world started to shift in unexpected directions. He held on to the backrest until up and down had gone back to their accustomed positions. Left and right he could deal with later. He steered towards the door and went outside with Bob following him closely. Outside, he took a deep breath. The air was warm and damp, and clouds were building up. "Looks like we're gonna have some rain tonight," he attempted to engage Bob in small talk.

"Cut to the chase."

"Okay. But first, I don't think we've been properly introduced. My name's Shawn." He pondered if it was the time yet to play the psych card. He did not have much on their kidnappers, but when had that ever stopped him? "I'm a psychic," he added. "I thought I should let you know so I don't have an unfair advantage, me knowing things about you and all." Bob's eyebrows started to move very slowly until they met above his nose. "I can prove it", Shawn said hastily. This required some wild guessing based on the fact that neither of the men was wearing a ring, and the use of his sense of smell. That, and one of the mattresses being leaned to the wall. "You and Eric are both not married, but Eric has met a girl recently. He spends a lot of time with her, and although you still come out here for hunting, your trips are getting shorter, and sometimes you come here alone, like the last time you were here. You don't like that very much, do you?" Bob's eyes widened. He shook his head. "Also, you're decent guys, but it never paid. So every now and then you need to supplement your income, but you're not the violent type. You sell stuff, maybe do some transport jobs. This is the first time you're actually risking a life sentence for a kidnapping that you didn't have the time to plan. So what went wrong? Why do you need the money so desperately?"

Bob's shoulders sagged. "We found an old gun," he said. "Well, stole it, but the guy really made it easy for us. We thought he wouldn't go after it, given the looks of it. Anyway, somebody did want it back. Police found the guy's dead body around here, next thing I know there's a man in a suit on my doorstep today, asking about the pistol. Says the thing was stolen from him. Guess it must be worth a lot after all. But I didn't have it anymore."

"You sold it."

"Yeah. To some guy who was looking for a cheap gun, calls himself Toby. The suit's really pissed because it's not there, I say I didn't have anything to do with the guy they killed. Now the suit says his boss wants his gun or his money back, and I told him that we'd get him the gun. The suit gives us one day. I try to reach Toby, turns out the idiot got himself busted trying to rob a liquor store in Santa Barbara. Then we saw your girlfriend. I remembered that she'd been holding hands with that filthy rich guy. You shouldn't have been with her, but we figured there'd still be some money in taking her."

Oh crap. This was bigger than he had thought. Shawn fought hard to keep up his friendly, relaxed face. "How much did the suit say he wanted?" he asked.

"One million."

"American dollars?"

"Yeah."

Slowly now, small steps. That pistol was worth a lot to somebody, so either it was the most expensive collectible he had ever heard of, or it had a history. The guy Bob and Eric had stolen it from was probably just a small fish, somebody who had been paid to steal it from the original owner. Who, it appeared, had not been the owner for very long. Why else would he want 'his money back'? But whatever was going on with that pistol, and whoever was after it, they would probably not be happy to find Bob and Eric not exactly with empty hands but with two hostages who could identify them. They had to get out of here before the bad guys arrived. But he could not leave the riddle unsolved. "Do you have internet on your phone?"

"What do you need an internet connection for?" Bob asked, reaching for his back pocket with his left hand.

"The gun. I want to try and find out what this is all about. Trust me, it'll only take a few moments. You can watch over my shoulder. I'm not gonna call the cops."

"But they can trace us."

"Did you use your own phone for the ransom call?"

"No."

"Then why should they trace it when I do a web search?"

"Careful." Bob pulled out a surprisingly new smart phone and handed it to him.

It took Shawn less than a few minutes to find a list of the most expensive handguns, complete with the estimated prices and, conveniently, pictures. Interestingly, the weapon on top of the list was priced at roughly 800.000 dollars. "Any of these look familiar?" he asked.

"That one, the Luger."

"That's it?"

"That's it."

"Dude, there's something weird going on here, and I'm afraid it's bigger than you. I have a suggestion, and please, hear me before you say anything. Let's get away from here. Turn yourself in to the police –"

"What?"

"I know, I know. This is probably the last thing you want to hear. But a man has died, and I think there's a lot more violence where that came from. Especially when the suit's boss finds out that the pistol is now exhibit A for your friend Toby. Really, even if you get the money, they won't let you walk away with a pat on the head. The safest place for you right now might be an arrest cell."

"Not gonna happen."

"Come on, give it a thought. You're not gonna be charged for kidnapping. We had a car accident, and you guys helped us out. And there's got to be a deal in it for you about the gun theft if you testify."

"Stop it. Right now. And get your ass back inside."

* * *

><p>"It should be somewhere around here." Lassiter scanned the trees to their right while the headlights punched pale white holes into the darkness. Two Ventura County Sheriff cars from the department in Ojai were following them. "I still can't believe they won't be more cooperative."<p>

"Two deputies for backup when we don't even know what exactly we're looking for? That's pretty cooperative to me," Gus said. "Especially considering that this is not your jurisdiction."

"Thanks for mentioning that again. It's not like the Sheriff hadn't been emphatic enough about it."

"And still he lets you investigate. I think he's being nice."

"Nice? He told us never to come back once this case is closed."

"No, I believe he was specifically telling _you_ not to come back. Which might have to do with your comments about his ancestry."

"I was being more specific than that. I personally know this man's mother, and believe me, every word I said about her is true."

The radio crackled. "Detective Lassiter, this is SBPD. Come in, please."

"Riley, what have you got?"

"We have a positive ID on Spencer. The owner of the cabin could not clearly identify Lieutenant O'Hara but said there was a blond woman waiting in the car."

"Copy that. Anything on the gun yet?"

"No, Sir."

"Keep me apprised. Lassiter out."

Gus pointed to an opening in the tree line. The road in between was barely discernible in the dark. "There it is," he called.

Lassiter carefully steered the car along the dirt track. For several minutes the scenery remained the same: trees appearing out of the dark, passing them and disappearing again. It was hypnotizing. Then Lassiter spotted a black BMW standing on the road ahead of them. He stopped the car. Two figures with torch lights had been walking around and were now looking up at them. Carlton narrowed his eyes. "What the –" He stopped and got out. Gus followed him closely when he approached the two men. Upon recognizing them, Lassiter took Gus by the scruff of the neck. "Spencer _and_ Rand?"

Gus raised his hands in defense. "Don't look at me. I only called Shawn's father."

"I contacted Rand," Henry said. "No offense, but I thought if we have a profiler at our disposal, fraud or not, we better take him along."

"I suppose I've got to be glad that nobody's aunt Minnie is a crack deer tracker. So if we're complete now, how about we get to work?"

"We're almost finished," Rand replied calmly.

Lassiter rolled his eyes and sighed. "Of course."

"We found traces of a car crash," Henry added, "less than a day old. From what we found so far, there were two vehicles involved."

"Coincidence?" Lassiter proposed.

"Not out here. A collision between two cars doesn't happen by accident on a road like this."

"So you're suggesting they were pushed off the road?"

"Yes. There's a short set of tire tracks at a right angle with the street."

"Can you tell where they went from here?"

"There are too many tracks here. My guess would be that they went further down this dirt road."

* * *

><p>Shawn knew when he had lost an audience. There was one thing he still had to try, though. "Can I call Rand first?" he asked. "Just to make sure you get some extra money for that fake murder? Looks like you're going to need it."<p>

"And how are you gonna do that?"

"He hates me. It won't take much to make him say the magic words." Magic words. He needed to let Declan know where they were. The ransom hardly mattered anymore. He doubted that there was enough time left for an exchange to take place.

"They'll trace the call."

"Again, no. You already offered him to kill me. Do you think that with this proposal pending, he'll have the cops involved?"

Bob thought hard for almost a minute. "If you try anything," he then threatened, "I'll shoot you right here, right now. Put him on speaker."

Shawn held up the phone so Bob could see what he was doing, and dialed Declan's mobile number. A hurray for that photographic memory.

"Rand," he said as soon as the call was answered. "This is Shawn Spencer. You know, the guy who's dating your ex fiancée?" He waited for a reply, hoping that Declan would realize something was going on, as there had never been a ring involved.

"What do you want?" came the short reply. Apparently Declan had gotten the clue.

"Let you know that we're alright," Shawn retorted with exaggerated friendliness. "You didn't ask, but I thought you'd be happy to hear that we're still being held hostage, but apart from that, fine."

The short delay before the next answer told Shawn that Rand was choosing his words well. "I am," he said. "And I am getting the money as we speak."

"Oh, come on. That's small change for you. Don't act like you had to call your bank and beg on your knees. You got out of that financial crash pretty well, as I recall." He pronounced the word 'crash' as articulate as he could, which posed some challenge considering it was monosyllabic.

"Yes." A short pause, hopefully meaning that Declan had understood and had found or at least knew about the site of the car crash. Even with the Honda standing here in front of the cabin, there had to be plenty traces left to mark the spot if somebody was looking for them. "I had good advice. It's good to have friends in the business." There was a noticeable emphasis on the word 'friends'. Good boy. He had brought backup. "But still, I don't have it lying around in big wads here."

"You know what? The twenty bucks you owe me for that Eastwood collector's box? Keep 'em." He was really pushing his luck now. 20 minutes east of the crash site. Not very well hidden. Just when Shawn started to wonder why Bob wasn't interfering, the cold metal of the rifle's muzzle was poked in his side.

"Stop the chitchat," Bob snarled and took the phone. "Let's talk business," he said. "Do you want that pain in the ass killed or not?"

"No. I'll double the ransom if you let him go." Nice move.

"Deal." Bob seemed surprised, but grasped the opportunity.

"Good. I'll contact you as soon as I have the money. Let me know where to take it."

"Fine."

"And, Spencer?"

Shawn pricked up his ears. "Yes?"

"Take good care of my girl."

"Yes."

* * *

><p>Declan ended the call and looked at Henry. "I think I know roughly where they are."<p>

"Are they okay?"

"So he said."

"Thank God."

"What are we waiting for?" Lassiter urged. He got in the car and gestured the deputies to get moving. His left eyebrow attempted to arch when he found that Henry Spencer was already sitting in the passenger seat, but he called it to order immediately. After Gus had climbed in the back seat, he hit the gas, and, scattering dirt and gravel, the car dashed forward.

* * *

><p>Far away, Shawn could hear the roar of thunder. Or was it an engine? Whatever it was, Bob heard it, too. He hustled him back inside and gave Eric a sign. "Tie him up."<p>

"Sit down!" Eric pushed Shawn on the chair and tied his hands and feet again. Bob waved from outside, and his companion left the cabin. The door fell shut.

"What's going on?" Juliet inquired.

"We need to get away from here," Shawn replied in a distressed tone. "And by 'we', I mean everybody in and around this cabin."

"How's that?"

Shawn briefly considered telling her the whole story, but as always, it was easier doing it the Psych way. "The cavalry's on its way, but I'm sensing these guys have gotten themselves up to their necks in trouble, and it's closing in on them. Somebody dangerous is about to get here before the police do."

"But how do we free ourselves?" Instead of an answer, Shawn started wriggling, and seconds later, had freed his hands, then his feet. "How did you do that?" Juliet wondered.

Shawn held up his Swiss. "Stole it back from Eric," he smiled. "Your turn." He started cutting her loose. Meanwhile, she tried to evaluate the situation. "If we want to get away from here fast, we're going to need wheels," she said.

"I'm afraid your car is not an option anymore."

"And there's no way we could steal their truck, even if we got anywhere near it. We don't have the keys, and we won't be able to short-circuit it fast enough."

"Or at all."

"Speak for yourself." She gave him a crooked smile. "Anyway, this means running. Do you think you can do that? How's your head?"

"I'm a certified expert at running with scissors. I think I'll manage running with a concussion."

"I don't need your wit right now. What I need is you telling me if you can run until we're out of range, and I'm not sure how long that'll be."

Shawn could see she was not in the mood for jokes. "Honestly, I can't tell. My head's throbbing, and if we had a real choice, I'd rather sit it out. But I don't think we get to choose." He folded up the knife. "There you go."

She was rubbing her wrists when suddenly the sound of engines arose outside and quickly became louder. There were several voices, speaking, then shouting. Only seconds later, the first shot was fired. A short moment of silence followed, and then hell broke loose. The cracking of shots from pistols and rifles mixed with pounding sounds and agonized outcries. Wood splintered as bullets went right through the door and the massive front wall of the cabin.

Juliet pushed Shawn to the ground and cowered next to him. "We have to get out", she said. "The window."

They crept towards the window in the rear wall. Upon seeing his reflection in the glass, Shawn grinned and touched the red bandage that would just as well have passed off as a headband. "Jules, you're amazing. Forget Kirstie Alley, I look like Rambo." He fought with the window for a few seconds before he could pull it open, helped Juliet and then half climbed, half fell through the frame.

A flash of lightning split the sky, followed within seconds by roaring thunder. Thick clouds covered the stars.

"Any idea where south is?" Shawn whispered, crouching down.

"No, not in this weather", Juliet replied. "Let's keep the cabin between them and us and stay away from the road. Go!"

They started to run.


	6. Chapter 5: Thunderbolts and Lightning

**Thunderbolts and Lightning**

When they reached the trees, Shawn turned his head and saw a man in a suit standing behind the open window, backlit by the naked light bulb and holding a gun. He grabbed Juliet's arm and tried to speed up even more, but the uneven ground and the darkness made it impossible to run as fast as they would have needed to. Something small bit him in his left shoulder. It felt like a very big, very angry mosquito, and the pain was – well, painfully familiar. He groped for his shoulder in growing disbelief and found blood on his fingers. "Seriously? The shoulder again?" he groaned under his breath. Juliet was two steps ahead of him and had not noticed anything. "They've seen us," he panted.

She maintained a steady rhythm and did not turn around. "Okay," she said. "How close?"

"Out of sight right now. Zigzag! We've got to lose them!"

The skies now opened up, and rain poured down on them. Not even the trees offered much protection from the flood. The ground became slippery, and with only flashes of lightning to illuminate their way, their pace slowed down considerably.

Shawn's world soon shrunk to a coffin-sized bubble around his body filled with pain and nausea. He stumbled along, his head and shoulder pounding at a danceable 150 bpm. The rain washed away the blood as quickly as it trickled out of the wound, so he had no idea how much he was losing. His focus was Juliet's back, which he was looking at through a long dark tube. Fighting the swaying ground and the roots that kept clutching at his feet, he forced himself not to let the distance increase, but when a giant hand grabbed his intestines and started twisting them, he stopped. "Juliet, wait."

She halted and turned around. "No," she gasped. "We need to keep going and get some distance between us and those lunatics."

"Just a minute." He leaned to a tree, holding his head with his right hand. "I think I'm gonna be sick." He fell to his knees, and, doubling over, emptied his stomach on the wet soil. "I need a break, Jules", he said feebly.

"Not yet." It was breaking her heart, but they had to keep going. "Come on." She dragged him to his feet and after her. "We need to find a safe place. You can rest all you want there."

Shawn moaned, but managed to keep up with her pace. They ran with no idea where they were headed, changing directions randomly. The only pattern was that they were going downhill most of the time. Finally they reached a collection of big rocks scattered between the trees. Some of them were piled up offering at least minimal protection from the weather and hostile looks.

"Here." Juliet chose a set of three rocks wedged to form a crooked, flat teepee. She took Shawn's hand and helped him sit down. The next flash of lightning revealed a hole in his shirt on his left shoulder. She quickly checked the back and found a corresponding hole there. A bullet wound, and it had gone right through. "When did that happen?" she asked worriedly.

"Back at the cabin."

"Why didn't you – it's okay, let me see this." She pulled down his shirt and gingerly tore his t-shirt to widen the bullet holes and get a better overview. Both entry and exit wound were small and relatively clean, but the bleeding had to be stopped. "I need to put pressure on this." She picked up a twig as thick as a finger. "Bite down on this."

Shawn gave her a weary grin. "You serious? If you don't want me to make any noise, how about I just pass out for a few minutes?"

"No, don't do that."

"It's kind of imperative."

"We're not safe yet. I need you to stay awake and alert. Can you do that for me?"

"I'll try." He pointed at the twig. "But I'm not taking that into my mouth."

Juliet dropped it. "I need your shirt."

"What's left of it. You know, when I pictured you ripping my clothes off, this wasn't what I had in mind."

"We'll make good for that. Give me your knife." She carefully helped him out of his shirt and cut it into broad strips. Putting a compression bandage on a shoulder was tricky enough with adequate material, but thanks to her brother's teaching she managed to improvise a decent substitute with what she had, nearly immobilizing Shawn's left arm.

Shawn endured the procedure with clenched teeth. The short break had diminished his headache and nausea somewhat, and he felt that if they stayed put, he might make it through the rest of the night without giving in to the fatigue.

Juliet now inspected her right thigh. A sharp twinge had been ailing her since they had started running, and she suspected there might be something still stuck in the wound. She removed the bandage and with compressed lips started to feel for a foreign body while Shawn was watching her with a sympathetic grimace of pain. There was something, small, flat and sharp, lodged in a muscle on the outside of her thigh. She gripped it but could not bring herself to pull it out. "Shawn, I need your help," she said. "There's a piece of plastic stuck in my leg. I can't do this on my own."

"Why – no, that's –"

"Think of it as a big splinter."

Shawn cleared his throat and let Juliet guide his hand. He felt the sharp plastic in warm flesh. "Ready?" he asked.

"Can't wait."

"Don't enjoy this too much. One, two –," he pulled it out on 'two', and Juliet silently writhed in pain. She pressed her hand on the wound immediately and put the bandage back on after a few seconds of gathering herself.

"Thanks."

"Never again, promise me that."

"Not if I can help it."

Shawn leaned back against one of the rocks and pulled Juliet to his chest with his sound arm, stroking her wet hair. She snuggled up to him and closed her eyes. "What now?" she asked.

"We should stay put. Chances of getting struck by lightning are pretty high tonight. Also, we have no idea where we are or where we're going, and we're both not in the best shape."

"Right, but we're also unarmed. If they find us we're as good as dead."

"We could rig the place with booby traps."

"We can't do that."

"Why not? There's trees, there's big rocks, and basically, all we need to do is take out one of them and get his gun. I've got my Swiss. Come on, we can do this MacGyver style."

"Shawn!" She slapped his leg.

"I'm serious. If we start moving again in this weather we might walk straight into their arms."

"If we're lucky they'll capture our stunt doubles."

He froze. "Oh. My. Goodness, I can't believe you just said that."

"Spending most of the day with you, it had to rub off on me eventually."

"One of the reasons why I love you."

"I know."

"Whoa, easy on those movie quotes if you're not used to them." Shawn shifted into a slightly more comfortable position. "Let's stay here until dawn," he suggested. "If they haven't found us until now, chances are they never will – assuming they are still after us at all. I suppose the rescue mission's on hold right now because of the weather, but they'll soon be all over the place. If you want to keep moving, let's do that when we can see where we're going."

"You're right." She stood up.

"Then what are you up to now?"

"Booby traps."

* * *

><p>The cars came to a halt, and the sirens stopped. Blue lights mixed with the lightning and gave the scenery an eerie touch. Not that it would have needed it – the small cabin presented a classic Tarantino movie scenery. The front wall and door were riddled with bullet holes, and there were two corpses lying close to it, and another one behind an open car door. Four cars had been standing there before the police had arrived: O'Hara's wrecked Civic, a pickup truck, and two featureless Chinese limousines.<p>

"Stay in the car," Lassiter ordered his passengers, but Henry was already getting out into the pouring rain. "Oh crap," Carlton uttered and followed him, quickly checking the other cars for unwanted guests. "Clear," he announced and proceeded to the hut. With the deputies covering him, he kicked in the door and secured the main room, then the small bedroom. There was nobody there. Two chairs stood in the middle of the cabin, cut cable ties lying next to them. The seat of one of the chairs was stained with blood. The only window in the back stood open.

"Rand," Lassiter called. "You're here for profiling, so profile. Are any of the dead bodies our kidnappers?"

"I'm pretty sure the two in the flannel shirts are our men," Declan replied.

"Then what in the Nine Hells happened here? And who's the third dead guy?"

"Whoever he is, he wasn't alone," Henry stated.

"I think Shawn expected something like this to happen," Declan said pensively. "His voice sounded very distressed."

"He was being held hostage. What did you expect?" Lassiter interjected.

"The kidnappers let him call me. The whole situation was under control so far, especially after we had agreed on the ransom, and he knew it. But even then, he still sounded anxious."

"Let's focus on the problem at hand, shall we?" Henry said. "I see two chairs, which somebody was obviously tied to, and I see blood on one of them. We're missing Shawn and Lieutenant O'Hara, and at least one person who is armed and dangerous. My gut tells me that the two are on the run with a killer on their heels, one of them possibly injured, and we need to find them."

Lassiter looked out of the window. "The rain washed away all tracks. We'll need heavy machinery. Helicopters. I need you to put together a search party," he addressed the deputies.

"I'm sorry, Sir," one of them said, "but we can't go after them in this weather. This is the worst thunderstorm we've had this year, and we can't send up helicopters."

"What?" Gus stepped forward. "We can't just wait and do nothing."

"We have no idea where to look for them, and the chances of finding them without aerial reconnaissance are virtually zero. Again, I'm sorry."

"Fine then," Lassiter said, "we'll wait until the weather clears up. But I want reinforcement. Get me a S.W.A.T. team, K-9, S&R, the park rangers, hell, get me the damn girl scouts if you have to. And find out who those cars belong to."


	7. Chapter 6: And What's With the Damned Gu

**A****nd What's With the Damned Gun?**

"I'll help you." Shawn struggled to his feet.

"You'll help me best as a lookout. Stay in cover and make a noise if somebody comes."

"What, like a cuckoo?" He gave a poor imitation of what sounded like an asthmatic cormorant.

Juliet smiled. "Just shout." As Shawn went looking for an elevated spot that would give him a better overview, she started to explore the vicinity. The uneven area, interspersed with a few unexpectedly steep slopes, indeed offered various possibilities to set up traps of all kinds – if one had some rope. The way it was, the best she could do was cover up a few holes in the ground, look for rocks or trees that were bound to fall over, and make sure they did when she wanted them to. Very well. She rolled up the sleeves of her blouse, pushed her wet hair back from her forehead and went to work.

Two covered holes in the ground and one cleverly set up domino of two loose rocks and a rotten tree later, she was looking for her next project when she spotted someone standing on a knoll only ten yards away. First she thought it was Shawn, but the man was taller, had broader shoulders, and he was pointing a gun at her. "Hello," he shouted. "And who do we have here in the middle of the night?"

"Toad volunteer?"

His voice dropped by a major third. "What were you two doing at the cabin?"

"That's what I'd like to ask you." She wondered where Shawn was, and feared that the man had found him before he had found her.

"I'm an avenging angel, honey pie." He postured and took a deep breath. "And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger, and babe, before I strike down upon you, you will feel my flaming sword." A hollow thump followed, his eyes rolled back, and he fell face-down into the mud and slid down the mound he had been standing on.

Shawn appeared behind him and dropped the branch that he had just swung. "No, she won't, you sick dipstick. And you know what, chatterbox? Brevity is the soul of wit. That's Bill S. Shakespeare, Esquire!"

Juliet sighed with relief. "Well done, Rambo."

„Rambo? Rambo's a pussy."

"Come down here, help me look for his gun." She got on her knees and groped around in the mud.

Shawn skidded down the mound and pointed at the underbrush to her left. "I think I saw it go that way."

"Damn," she uttered, "I can't find it. He was probably not alone. If we don't find the gun, we have to get away from here. Can you sense where it is?"

Shawn suddenly realized that this had to stop. True, his talent was often enough close to supernatural, and everybody knew by now that his alleged psychic abilities were erratic and not reliably working at all times, but right now, he could not stand seeing the look in Juliet's eyes when she pinned her hopes on something that had never been there. This was definitely not a good time, but he had to tell her the truth.

"No. No, Jules, I can't. In fact, I –" A yell echoed through the night. They both looked up. "Booby trap?" Shawn asked.

"I hope so."

"Fight or flight?"

"Let's take a look."

They sneaked towards the source of the noise and saw a bald man in a suit, who appeared very much out of place, even more so because he was standing in a hole up to his waistline and screaming with anger and pain.

Juliet smirked. She had not expected anybody to actually walk into one of her traps without any further assistance from her side. The smile faded when she saw two more men coming to the aid, both putting their guns into their holsters before they grabbed the suit under his arms and started dragging him back on even ground. One of them had a torch light.

"Are they anywhere near your other booby traps?" Shawn whispered.

"Near, yes, but not as close as I'd like them to. And I'd have to walk around them somehow in order to set them off."

"Walk around them, huh? Okay, where do you want them, and where will you be headed?" She pointed her finger into two different directions as he spoke. "Fine. I'll distract them."

"How?"

"I don't really have a plan as of now. Just go for it as soon as you notice that the distraction works."

"Be careful."

"Would I ever?" He grinned and made his way through the brushwood sideways, keeping an eye on the three men until he was far enough away. When he had reached a clear spot in the direction where Juliet had indicated that she wanted the men, he started looking around for something he could use as a distraction, slipped and fell. The yell that he let out when he hit his injured shoulder was loud enough that he would not have to take any further action to gain their attention. He just hoped that Juliet had been ready to set off whatever she had prepared. As if in response to his unspoken question, a loud rumbling sound echoed through the night. He went to find the source – and ran straight into a tall man whose heavy cotton jacket was drenched with water, which did not even up their chances, but somewhat alleviated the advantage the other man had for being able to use both of his hands. When the man had overcome his surprise and wanted to reach inside the jacket, his hand got caught in the denim, and Shawn took his chance and charged at him. He had intended to grab the weapon the other one had reached for, and for a split second, he could even feel the metal at his fingertips, but then they both fell and slid down a short slope, painfully hitting roots and small rocks when they reached even ground. Miraculously, Shawn did not add more than a few minor cuts and bruises to the growing collection of his injuries. He got back on his feet and looked into the face of the other man, who smiled as he now put his right hand under his jacket. When his smile faded, Shawn sensed another chance, picked something up from the ground and pointed it at his opponent, staying in the shadow of the trees. "Looking for this?" he asked.

The man froze. "So what are you gonna do now? Kill me?"

"No, I'm more the pain-inflicting type. What do you people want?" He did not mention the old gun, although he was certain that it was what the men had come looking for, and why they were now after them.

"You have something we want back, or at least you know where it is. If you have it, we want it. If you don't, we'll speak with your boss. He won't be happy with it for long anyway."

"And why's that?"

"I don't talk to middlemen."

"Said the henchman. Tell me, or I'll start by blowing away your kneecaps."

"No."

"Dude, I'm not a middleman. I have that gun right here in my pocket. All I need is a little incentive, and I might talk to your boss about selling it back to him."

"It's a fake, you idiot. He won't buy it back. He wants to stick it in the face of the man who sold it to him and blow his lights out. So you'll be smart not to get in his way, or your face could be next."

Now what was that all about? The pistol was a counterfeit? An unbearable din in Shawn's head kept drowning his thoughts. He forced himself to think louder. Bob and Eric had stolen the gun from one of the buyer's men after it had been sold, because the buyer now wanted his money back. Bob's words came to his mind. "He made it easy for us." A gun this valuable would not be trusted to some idiot, so what if he had wanted it to be stolen? 'Come on, Shawn, _think_!' he urged himself. Why did they know it was a fake? And bit by bit, he constructed a picture that made sense. Somebody had sold the pistol knowing that it was not real. He had wanted it to be stolen, maybe because the customer sooner or later would have found out that he had been ripped off. He had paid one of the buyer's men to 'lose' it, and somebody had not been happy about that. The man had probably talked before he died. As Bob and Eric had obviously not had a clue as to what was going on, the buyer had given them a chance to get the pistol back, because he wanted to get even with his business partner. But then their time had been up, and witnesses were undesired. Apparently the kidnapping had been interpreted as some sort of extra deal, which did not help to uncomplicate the situation, but probably had just saved Shawn's butt. "Fine then," he said and threw his weapon at the other man. It was not the pistol the guy had just lost, of course. It would have been dumb luck to find it in the ankle-deep mud. He had simply picked up a remotely pistol-sized stone and stayed in the shadows as well as he could. The stone hit the man in the jaw, and Shawn did not stay to find out what its impact was. He still had a vague idea as to where Juliet had wanted to go, and he started to make his way there, more cautious this time in order to avoid another close encounter. He soon found her and managed to keep her from clawing at his throat until she realized that it was him. "How did it work?" he asked.

"Not well. I may have blocked their way for a bit, but if they're still after us, they'll be back on track soon enough."

"Shame. And I think they are still after us. One of them's disarmed now, if that helps."

"A little maybe."

"Do you think we can take them out?"

"We're still outnumbered and unarmed. As long as they're together, we don't stand a chance."

"So what do we do now?"

"Shawn, drop that rock. They'll be busy for one or two more minutes. We'll retreat very quietly until we're out of sight."

"And then?" he asked, fearing the worst.

"Then we'll run."

* * *

><p>The deputies had stayed at the cabin and called for backup. The Sheriff had demanded on the radio that everybody who was not with the local police went back into town, so Lassiter and the other men left the scene and drove straight to the Sheriff's Office where Sheriff Darby, a brawny man in his late thirties with a receding blond hairline, was already waiting for them. "Well, well," he said, standing next to the coffee machine with a full cup. "Detective Mayhem is back. I should have known better than to let you into my county."<p>

"Save it, Luke. There's a police officer out there who needs our help. Can we not warm up old stories and do some police work instead?"

"Don't bite, Carlton, I was just poking fun at you." He scrutinized the men. "You guys look like drowned rats. Coffee, anyone?"

Minutes later, they were all sitting at a table in the staffroom, each with a cup of coffee in front of them. Darby wordlessly put cream and sugar on the table in front of Lassiter. "Now tell me the whole story," he said. "Who's your escort?"

"Henry Spencer," Henry introduced himself, "consultant liaison with the SBPD. My son is out there, too."

"Is he a cop?"

"Far from it," Lassiter said. "SBPD pays him for his services as a psychic consultant. Can you believe it?"

"Why, don't you?"

"Uh – no."

"Wait a minute. Weren't you the one who said 'if you think you're psychic, maybe you are'?"

"I never said that."

"Must have been someone who looked just like you." Darby shook his head as if to cast off an unsettling memory. "And the rest of you are…?"

"Declan Rand, he used to work as a criminal profiler until he retired due to incredible wealth," Henry continued, leaving out the complicating details, "and Burton Guster, my son's partner in their psychic detective agency."

"Another psychic?"

"No," Gus replied. "Just detective."

"Fine with me. Now please brief me on what exactly's going on. My deputies tell me there were two locals involved, who are now both dead."

"Who were they?" Lassiter queried.

"Eric Williams and Robert Jackson. Unremarkable guys until today. They used to hang out in the park or at the shopping mall a lot, sometimes with the wrong people. I've always suspected them of being into petty crimes every now and then, but up until now their records have remained clean."

"So why the kidnapping?"

"That's what I'm asking you. You said they wanted money. Anything else? Your Lieutenant O'Hara and the psychic, were they up to something?"

"Nothing police related, that's for sure," Lassiter mumbled.

"Williams has been seen with a woman recently. Andy!" Darby called.

"Yes, Sir?" Another deputy stuck his head through the doorframe.

"The girl you saw Eric Williams with. What's her name again?"

"Kelly Ferguson. She's a friend of my sisters'."

"Right, thanks." Darby looked at Lassiter again. "She works the night shift in a fitness studio a few minutes from here. Maybe she's got something for us."

"I'll go with you. You know how much I hate sitting around."

"Okay. But the rest of you stay here. Warm up." He gave Henry a reassuring glance. "We'll be back out there as soon as the weather allows." He put his hat on and left the room with Lassiter. Through the open door of the staffroom, they could see how he ducked as he stepped out into the rain.

Henry buried his face in his hands, then rubbed his temples. "You said Shawn saw that mess coming," he said to Rand. "Any more ideas on that?"

"Nothing constructive. He must have talked to the kidnappers and found out something. I don't believe they were abducted for something they knew beforehand, if you're aiming at that."

"Because of the ransom demand."

"Right."

"So whatever the reason for the kidnapping is, Shawn and O'Hara were just random victims."

"More or less. One of the men called me – and only me – with the ransom demand. Why would he do that?"

"Maybe Shawn told him to?" Gus speculated.

"This guy offered me to kill Shawn. Although it is tempting to say that talking to him can have that effect on people, I seriously believe it was the man's own idea to call me. He must have seen me and Juliet together."

"So it's basically your fault." That earned Gus gloomy looks from both Henry and Declan. "Okay, forget what I just said. I'll just sit here saying nothing. And doing nothing."

"That's about as much as we can do right now," said Henry and patted his shoulder. "Believe me, as soon as the weather gives us a chance of finding them, I'll be the first one out there."

* * *

><p>Lassiter did not know what he had expected, but when he followed Darby to the counter of the fitness studio, he was pleasantly surprised. The studio was bright and clean, and the equipment was high-quality and in a good condition. A place to spend long evenings at.<p>

"Kelly Ferguson?"

A slim, wiry woman in her mid twenties with long brown hair that she had tied to a ponytail insecurely smiled at the Sheriff. "Sheriff Darby? What are you doing here in the middle of the night?" Upon seeing the serious expression on his face, her smile languished until it died a thin, pale death. "Something's wrong with Eric."

"I'm sorry. He was killed tonight."

The look in her eyes had prompted Lassiter to step behind the counter, and he supported her as now her knees gave way. She recovered within seconds and shook him off. "What happened?" she inquired.

"We hoped you could help us with that question. He and Robert Jackson were shot at their cabin out in the mountains. Do you know if they were in any trouble?"

She put her hands on the counter, clenched to fists, knuckles white. "That's got to have to do with the damn gun."

"What gun?" Darby asked.

"I don't know exactly what was going on, but do you remember the man who was found dead yesterday?"

"Yes."

"Eric told me that they stole a gun from him. He was pretty freaked, didn't want to see me for a few days. He said it would be safer."

"Guess he was right," Lassiter commented wryly. "What happened to the gun?"

"They sold it. That's where the trouble started. They wanted to get the gun back, but the guy who bought it had been arrested."

"His name?"

"Toby."

"That's it? Just Toby?"

"That's all Eric told me, and I don't think they wanted to see his ID and gun license."

"Where did he get arrested?"

"Santa Barbara."

Lassiter frowned. "What for?"

"I don't know. Something stupid. Robbed a store or something."

"You've got to be kidding me." Lassiter stared at her. "Luke," he said, "I need to use your radio. I'm getting an idea on what's going on here. And I don't like it."

* * *

><p>Juliet knew that Shawn was not in the condition to do what she asked of him, but what choice did she have? Even if there were only three men left, and only two of them were armed, that was more than team O'Hara had to offer or could put up with. She had long begun to wonder what was so important that somebody would kill two men and try to finish off two accidental bystanders as well. She figured it had something to do with the reason why Bob and Eric had kidnapped them in the first place, but beyond that, everything was just obscure.<p>

She had taken Shawn's hand so she would not lose him, and continued going downhill wherever she could. The bolts of lightning were not coming in as frequently as before, but the rain was still pouring down in torrents, and the wind had diminished only marginally. Small runlets were forming on the ground, and when she noticed that they flew together to form what might become an actual stream if it kept growing, she changed her course to follow it. Her right thigh still sent out a sharp twinge with every step she took, as if to remind her that it was still there, but all in all she figured she would be fine. What worried her more was the fact that Shawn was slowing down considerably. She stopped and found that he was close to giving up again. Concussion really was a bitch. During her time at the police academy, she had once hit her head badly without anybody noticing, and the attempt to keep up with the fellow students for the rest of the day had eventually sent her to bed for three days straight. She had a vague idea of how he was feeling right now. "Okay, listen to me," she said. "I know that you think you can't go any farther. You're sick, and you're in pain. But the storm's subsiding, and we'll just have to make it for a little while longer. I don't need your help with anything, I just need you to function for as long as it takes. Keep up with me, and try not to trip. I'll guide you. Shawn, are you with me?"

"I'll be right behind you. Just tell me when it's over."

"Okay. Now go!" She dragged him with her, still following the water downstream, hoping to find a river sooner or later that would lead them to some sort of civilization.

After what could have been minutes or hours, the rushing sound that had accompanied them ever since they had left the cabin changed. It sounded… bigger than the rain, more massive. More like a river. She adjusted her course, firmly holding on to Shawn's hand. And there it was, a stream that was clearly bursting its banks, taking anything up to the size of small trees with it. Juliet moved on, keeping a safe distance from the riverside.

But what was that? Had they been running in circles? Ahead of them, only a few yards away from the river, was a small wooden cabin. No, this was not the one they had escaped from. This one had a window in the front wall, a small porch, and it did not have bullet holes. Juliet knew it could be a death trap if their pursuers found them in there, but there might be a radio in it, or something else that could prove useful. She sent out a quick prayer as she approached the front door. Nope. Not helping. The door was locked. Well, this was an emergency. A small rock solved her problem and left the window frame empty. She climbed through it and found a spare key on the doorframe. On the inside. She decided not to think about it, unlocked the door and opened it, and Shawn stumbled inside. Juliet determined that they could not waste any time, and groped around for a light switch. The others would find the hut anyway, illuminated or not, and she needed to see if there was anything useful here. The lights went on. Juliet saw that Shawn was leaning to the wall, and led him to a bench in a corner of the main room. "Sit down." She looked around. This cabin was far better equipped than the other one. There was a kitchenette, the bench in the corner with a table in front of it, a locker, a large rugged carpet, a bunk bed, and several other items that suggested regular use of the cabin. No radio.

"Fish," Shawn said wearily.

"What?"

"Look at the walls." She scanned the walls, and there were dozens of stuffed fishes on wooden boards hung up. "No guns," Shawn declared.

"Probably not, but there has to be some fishing gear around." She opened the locker, and there were buckets, fishing rods, plastic boxes with bait, a dip net, rubber boots, a rain jacket – and nylon string. Not as helpful as some real rope, but good enough. She took one of the rods, the string, and also found a fishing knife.

"What are you going to do? Fillet them?"

"Maybe."

"The scary thing is, right now I believe you would."

"I can't deny I'm in the mood." The defiant look on her face, her wet hair and clothes, the red bandage around her thigh and the mud that covered her legs up to her knees underlined her statement.

"Actually, why don't we just turn off the lights and stay put? Let's stay the night. Come on, this is kind of cozy. Just you and me…"

"And a couple of armed men who want to kill us. We need to leave this place. Quickly."

"I thought you wanted to fillet them."

"Yeah, and I could if they came through the door one at a time. But somehow I don't think they'll do me the favor."

"I guess not. So what's the fishing armory really for?"

"We can't keep running away."

"You mean I can't."

"However. If the cavalry doesn't come, we have to take out the bad guys, and this is the best chance we'll get."

"And how are we going to do that with a fishing line, rod and knife?"

"I'll figure it out as I go along."

"Now where have I heard that before?" Shawn stood up with a moan and went to the locker. "I'll take that net."

"What for?"  
>"Catching butterflies. Maybe one or two bad guys. So, are we leaving or what?"<p>

Juliet nodded firmly. "I'll try and set something up. We'll leave the lights on, that should distract them for a bit." Although Juliet did not agree with her brother's current engagement, tonight she was grateful for everything she had ever picked up from him. And for having a crush on Richard Dean Anderson when she had been eight years old. She needed one more thing from the cabin, then she would be ready to go.

* * *

><p>Lassiter and Darby entered the Sheriff's station, where expectant faces greeted them, but they went straight into Darby's office. Lassiter called the SBPD. "Reynolds. The name of the man we arrested for the liquor store robbery – what was it? Tobias something, Goethe? Gunther, right. Interrogate him. I want the names of the men he bought that gun from. And see if you can connect any of them with a…" the Sheriff handed him a slip of paper "Richard Wilkes the Third. I want all you can get on either of these guys."<p>

"My boys have done a little research, too," Darby said. "Wilkes is currently out of state."

"How convenient for him."

"Seeing your face, I'd say lucky for him."

"He owns both cars we found at the cabin. He's pulling the strings in this case, I'm sure. And don't you think the rain's letting up?"

"No. But I think the storm's not as bad as it was an hour ago. I'll stay in touch with our pilots. They'll be up there as soon as it's acceptable. Don't worry, Carlton. We'll find your people. We've had tougher situations, remember?"

"You mean the thermometer case. That was one unpleasant week."

"Yes. Now get back to your friends, tell them things will be alright. I'll let you know when there is any news. On the case or the weather."

"Thanks, Luke." Lassiter hesitated. "It's good seeing you again," he then said and left for the staff room.

* * *

><p>"Anything yet?"<p>

Shawn peered into the dark. "No. But it's almost stopped raining."

"Good. Come over here, I need a hand with this."

"You sure this is going to work?"

"Could MacGyver ever be sure?"

"Yes?"

"Not really. Hold on to that. Now pull. And – hold it. Okay, I think this is it." Juliet stepped back and regarded her work. "Not too original, but I think it's the time to go with proven methods."

"This is not from the police handbook, I'm sure."

Juliet looked up. Not very far away, a beam of light wandered through the darkness. "They're coming. On your mark, and wait for my signal."

Shawn trotted off, and Juliet took cover. At her hiding-place, there were two taut strings, one of which she had marked with fish bait. When the three men – obviously, she avenging angel was still having choir practice somewhere else – came closer, she cut string number one. Something tumbled over inside the still illuminated cabin. The torchlight's beam froze for a moment, and the men stopped checking the surroundings and went straight for the hut. Thanks to a few obstacles in their way, they had to take the path Juliet had intended for them. The first in line, who was bleeding from his chin onto his wet denim jacket, had the pleasure to meet Rockin' Rod, as Shawn had dubbed it. The fishing rod from the locker had been augmented with a small rock, and its flexibility combined with gravity did the rest after Juliet had cut string number two. The guy did not even make a sound, and out he went, as did the torchlight. The remaining two men stood like glued to the spot, and Juliet already worried that they might turn around and take a different route, but after a few seconds of contemplation, they moved on. When they had reached a spot that she had marked with a branch, she yelled, "Shawn! Now!" The assailants spun around and aimed their guns in the direction her voice had come from, but she was still in cover and invisible in the dark.

Shawn, who had assumed position next to the river, raised his Swiss and, too, cut a nylon string. Attached to it and hanging from a tree over the river's surface had been a bulky package made of branches, towels, the rain jacket from the cabin and pretty much anything that would possibly drift, which now plunged into the water and was torn away by the stream. It strained a cord made of several strings of fishing line, which ran across a robust bough and went down to the corners of a leaf-covered carpet. The rug was yanked up with one of the men standing on it. The other, the man in the suit, made a leap backward and landed on his behind, only to start up to his feet again. He aimlessly fired five rounds into the darkness. "Son of a bitch," he shouted.

Something was pulled over his head and then jerked back. He did not have time to realize that he had just been overwhelmed with a dip net when Juliet already darted out of her hideout and tackled the man. A series of punches drew the breath out of him and made him drop his pistol, followed by a roundhouse kick to the head Chuck Norris would have been jealous of, which sent him to the ground.

"Wow." Shawn gazed at her. "I can't believe you did that."

She smiled demurely. "That? Just a regular cop beating up the bad guy."

Shawn shook his head and pointed at the carpet hanging from a tree's bough. "No, I can't believe you did _that_. That rug really tied the room together." A small chuckle sounded from inside the carpet. Shawn grinned. "Okay, let's get the Dude down."

Minutes later, Juliet had disarmed all three of their pursuers, two of whom were still unconscious, and neatly tied them to trees.

Shawn regarded the scene. "I suppose it's over now," he said.

"Yes, Shawn, it's over."

"That's convenient."


	8. Chapter 7 Alternative A: Stay the Night

_Alternative chapter version A:_ **Stay the Night**

"The storm's over," Lassiter said.

"How do you know?" asked Gus.

"Because I have decided that it's over."  
>"He's right," agreed Sheriff Darby, who had come into the staff room from his office. "I've got a green light from our pilots. We have a fully equipped S&amp;R team waiting for us, a S.W.A.T. team in case we run into the bad guys, and our K-9 unit."<p>

"That's what I wanted to hear," Henry said.

Everybody grabbed their jackets, and a short struggle ensued at the door, but Henry made it through first.

* * *

><p>"Come with me." Shawn took Juliet's hand, and they walked back to the cabin. After they had gone inside, he carefully closed the door and gazed at her, and the look on his face scared her for a second. "I could really need some rest now," he muttered.<p>

She took him by the elbow and led him to the bench again. "There you go."

"I was thinking of the bed."

"No." She glanced through the empty window frame, then back at him. "Look at me. The storm's over. They'll come for us in no time. You have to stay awake until they get here."

"Unfair."

"Why is it unfair?"

"You said it was over."

"You have a head injury. I can't let you fall asleep."

"You could have told me that sooner."

"Shawn."

"What?"

"Scoot over." She slid on the bench next to him. "We did it," she said, "and you're holding up great. Don't give up now. Consider this the fun part of the weekend. You and I, alone at last… You said it was cozy, after all."

"Yes. Sort of. A very rustic, godforsaken, slasher movie scary sort of."

"Don't you like it at all?"

"Sitting here with you? Soaking wet, bleeding, concussed and beaten?" He smiled at her. "This is way more fun than any Fall Guy marathon, and I wouldn't want to share this with anybody else but you."

She smiled back at him. "You're the cutest person in the world."

"No, that's William H. Macy. But I'm comfortable with the thought that I rank second."

They sat in silence for a while. Then Juliet shifted a little. "There's something I've been wondering about," she said. "Your father doesn't have any psychic abilities, does he?"

"No. Just the regular parent eyes-in-the-back-of-his-head super powers. Why?"

"Well – don't get me wrong, it's not like I was planning or anything, but…" She hesitated. "Do you think it might be hereditary?"

It did not happen often, but it was possible to render Shawn Spencer speechless. Two thoughts collided inside his mind and started to wrestle about who got to be processed first. Shawn could only sit and watch until one of them prevailed. Following his nature, it was the more pleasant one. She might not be planning, but Juliet obviously did not rule out the possibility of having kids one day. With him. That appreciated, the other thought cleared its throat and spoke up, which took some effort as the storm appeared to be strengthening again and caused a loud flapping noise outside. Juliet was still convinced that he was a psychic, and she was incorporating that conviction into her visions of their future together. This was more than wrong, it just was not real.

"Yeah, about that," he said and took her hand. Were there wolves in this part of the country? He thought he had heard a bark, but there was something more important to focus on. "Juliet, don't be mad at me."

"You don't want kids." She tried a smile. "That's okay, I think."

"What? No! I mean, yes, I mean, I do." This night was full of surprises. He could not believe he had just said that, but it felt right. "Yes, I do. But that's not what I meant. What I'm trying to tell you is that I'm n…"

The door flew open, and five armed men in black S.W.A.T. gear stormed in, and before they knew it, Shawn and Juliet had been dragged off the bench and found themselves on the ground with the S.W.A.T. team spreading out in the cabin, which for obvious reasons did not take long. One of them yelled, "secure!", and the team was followed by two men with German Shepherds, and finally, by a man in a Sheriff's uniform, Lassiter, Henry Spencer, Declan Rand, and Gus. There was hardly any space left for Shawn and Juliet to get back on their feet again. Although the policemen had been relatively gentle with them, Shawn's shoulder was now smarting again at its best. He looked for somebody to let his frustration out on, with his father and Lassiter making it into the finals, and finally pounced at Lassiter. "You've got to be kidding me. Why now? Couldn't you have come like two minutes later? We were kind of in the middle of something."

"Not another word, Spencer. I don't want to know what you two were up to."

Shawn stopped short. He wondered if Lassiter had figured it out by himself. "Who told you?"

"You're not the only one who 'senses' things. Besides, you two were hard to miss recently."

"Lassie, you old bloodhound. Way to go!" Shawn grinned at him, but Juliet's face had turned bright red.

"Can we go home now?" she asked.

Lassiter looked down at her, and his expression became soft. "Yes," he said and offered her his hand.

Henry put a hand on Shawn's sound shoulder. "You okay, kid?"

"Yeah. Two aspirin, and I'll be playing golf with you in no time."

"Right. Like you'd ever play golf with me." Henry hesitated for a second before he let him go. "I'm glad we found you two alive," he then said. His eyes showed that he wanted to say more, but he just patted Shawn's shoulder again.

They left the cabin. Outside, Shawn blinked into the searchlights of two helicopters hovering about a hundred feet above the place. "Did you all get here in those things?" he asked.

"No," the Sheriff replied. "We're hardly two miles off the highway." He nodded to his truck, which was standing a few yards away on a narrow dirt track leading towards the cabin. "The ambulances didn't make it here. You have the choice: the bumpy route on the ground in my truck or the helicopter ride."

Juliet shook her head. "Shawn, no."

"Pretty please? A helicopter ride, how cool is that?"

Darby winked at her. "The guys haven't had an SAR mission in weeks. Humor them."

Juliet rolled her eyes. "Just so you know, I'm doing this _only_ because I want you to get to a hospital as quickly as possible."

"Sweet!"

Darby laughed. He took his radio and contacted the pilots, and seconds later, a man was lowered from one of the helicopters. Attached to his harness was a second one, and he waved Juliet over. "You owe me," she whispered into Shawn's ear and let the man strap the harness around her. When she had safely been pulled up and into the helicopter, it was Shawn's turn. When the man gave his colleague in the helicopter a sign that they were ready to be pulled up, a thought crossed Shawn's mind. A WWI pistol, counterfeit or not, showing up in Santa Barbara, had to pass Lassie's desk at some point. He hoped that it had not been through forensics yet. This was an opportunity not to be missed. "And by the way, the gun's a fake", he called down over the noise of the helicopter.

Lassiter turned around to face Henry. "Did he just say, 'the gun is a fake'?" he asked incredulously.

"Sounded like it."

"Dammit!" The detective kicked the next best tree. His cell phone rang. "Yes," he barked as he picked up the call.

"Detective Lassiter, this is Grace Lantigua, forensics department. Officer McNabb made it clear that you wanted the Luger on top of our list. We've just finished examining it."

"Let me guess," he said in a resigned tone. "It's not real."

"You're good. This baby gave us a hard time, but we even found out where the pistol originated. There's a manufacturer in San Mateo who officially sells replicas of the original ACP Luger. He reports that five of them, still unbranded, were stolen. Somebody used at least one of them to forge a nice expensive collectible. Not a bad profit margin, I'd say."

"Thank you."

"No, thank you. This was way more fun than reconstructing ballistic trajectories."

Lassiter put the phone back into his pocket. "I'll be damned," he sighed. "I don't know how he does it, but I swear I'll find out one day."

The procedure was not pleasant, but it did not take long. Soon Shawn sat in the helicopter next to Juliet, and after checking his blood pressure and making sure the bandage on his shoulder was still in place, the man who had taken them both aboard left him alone. Shawn leaned back and allowed himself to relax, and immediately an imperative wish to close his eyes overwhelmed him. He did not know if it was the fatigue caused by blood loss and the concussion or just plain old lack of sleep, or maybe a mixture of both, but he decided that it was safe now to give in to it. He had barely closed his eyelids when Juliet pushed him in the side. She said something, but her voice was just as far away as the noise the helicopter made. He opened his eyes again, smiled at her and allowed the world to fade to black.


	9. Chapter 7 Alternative B:Leave this Place

_Alternative chapter version B:_ **Leave this Place**

"Now look at this," Shawn said and tilted his head back. "Isn't that the most beautiful sunrise you've ever seen?"

"Shawn, it's still raining. All I see is that it's getting brighter."

"That's what I'm talking about. Do you see what I see?" He pointed at the ground a few yards away from the cabin. "Does this look like car tracks to you?"

"Yes."

"We can't be that far off the road. Let's follow that trail and see where it takes us. I'm betting it's the highway."

"Are you sure you want to walk? You look awful."

"In fact, there are several reasons why I'd rather walk than wait here. First, with all due respect to Lassie and the local authorities, I don't want to spend another night out here in case they don't find us, and I'm not sure how long these guys will actually stay tied up. Third,"

"Second."

"Thank you. Second, and that refers to argument number one, I don't want to bleed to death while waiting here. Third, I'm high on adrenalin. So I'd say we get back into town while it lasts. Oh, and fourth, the look on Lassie's face will be priceless."

Shawn's guess had been right. It did not take long until they reached the highway, with no cars in sight. They turned left, assuming that they were now going south, and slowly walked down the shoulder of the road, soaking wet and dirty as they were. They did not speak for a while. When they got closer to town, they encountered the first traffic. People were staring at them from out of their cars, but remarkably, nobody stopped.

When Shawn saw the first signs of civilization, such as orange tree fields and a small steak house by the road, he stopped and took Juliet's hand. "Can I carry you into town?"

"No."

"Please? It'll look awesome and totally heroic."

"Oh, it will. Until you trip and fall and we both end up with broken bones. Me, mostly, because you'll probably fall on me."

"You're right. Then how about you put one arm around my shoulder so I can support you?"

"Shawn, I can walk."

"But you're limping."

"Okay. You can support me as soon as there is somebody around to actually see us."

"Great. You're the best."

A lanky boy of about fifteen years, dressed in sports gear and jogging at a slow pace, approached them. When he noticed them, he slowed down and finally stopped. "Are you guys okay?" he asked insecurely.

"Hi there." Shawn casually put Juliet's arm around his shoulder. "Can you tell us the way to the local police department?"

The youth gazed at them. "Uh, sure. Just stay on Maricopa, then turn left after passing the hospital. You might want to stop by there first."

"Sure, let's have an MRI scan."

"Shawn!" Juliet gave him a half indignant, half amused look.

"Sorry." He smiled at the youth. "Thanks for your help, buddy. Nice move with that running in the rain thing, by the way. The ladies will love it."

"Really?" The boy looked at Juliet as if for confirmation.

She nodded at Shawn and shrugged. "Well, he's been running through the rain, and we're a couple, so yes, I suppose it works." Feigning a somewhat overdone hobble, she started walking again and dragged Shawn with her. "Come on, this is embarrassing," she whispered.

They had walked for another ten minutes and not even reached the hospital yet when Juliet noticed a change in the rhythm of Shawn's steps. She looked at him. He was pale as chalk.

"What is it?" she asked.

"I think the adrenalin rush is starting to wear off."

"Okay, that's it. Sit down, I'll stop a car and have them call an ambulance."

"But we're almost there."

"This is one more thing I don't understand about you. You would risk serious damage to your health just to get one over on Carlton? What is wrong with you guys?"

"We're guys."

"You do act like kids most of the time. Now sit down."

In this instant, a convoy of police, S.W.A.T., ranger, and civilian vehicles turned around the next corner and approached them.

"Oh look, that's got to be the rescue team," Shawn said and waved with his sound arm, beaming at a perplexed Detective Lassiter, who was steering the first car in the convoy. The cars came to a halt, and Lassiter got out, as did Henry Spencer on the passenger's side, and Gus, who had been sitting in the back seat. "Hey folks."

"How in the name of Henry Ford did you get here?" Lassiter asked, scrutinizing them.

"Long story," Juliet sighed.

"We left you a little something out in the woods." Shawn pointed in the general direction of what he thought was north, then corrected himself by 90 degrees. "You know, the trash you failed to take out."

"We didn't fail, Spencer. We –"

"Oh, my shoulder and I would like to contradict." He now ignored Lassiter and turned towards Gus and his father, putting his right arm around Juliet. "We were awesome out there. She was awesome. She took them out Rambo style, with a little Lebowski mixed in."

"Nice." Gus grinned while the expression on Henry's face was rather worried than amused.

"You okay, kid?" he asked his son.

"Yeah. Two aspirin, and I'll be playing golf with you in no time."

"Right. Like you'd ever play golf with me." Henry hesitated for a second. "I'm glad you two made it back alive," he then said. His eyes showed that he wanted to say more, but he just took Shawn's hand and pressed it firmly.

"So, Lassie, what have you been doing while we were fighting for our lives?" Shawn asked casually.

"It's not like we hadn't been on your track," the detective replied. "We were that close to finding you when you were still at that cabin." Lassiter indicated a hair's width between his thumb and index finger.

"Close? Lassie, you were so far upstream the last salmon you saw was waving you good-bye." Shawn patted the detective's shoulder, holding on to it for a second when his head began to spin. A thought crossed his mind. A WWI pistol, counterfeit or not, showing up in Santa Barbara, had to pass Lassie's desk at some point. He hoped that it had not been through forensics yet. His sight blurred, but this was an opportunity not to be missed. "And by the way, the gun's a fake", he added. Then he passed out. Lassiter caught him and slid him to the ground, muttering a curse.

Juliet kneeled down beside him. "You might want to call medical assistance," she said, looking up.

"Oh, I feel fine, thank you."

"Carlton!"

"Okay, alright." Lassiter beckoned a paramedic from an ambulance in the convoy, an unnecessary move as the man was hurrying towards them already. "What did he mean, 'the gun is a fake'?"

"I have no idea."

"Dammit!" The detective kicked the next best tire. His cell phone rang. "Yes," he barked as he picked up the call.

"Detective Lassiter, this is Grace Lantigua, forensics department. Officer McNabb made it clear that you wanted the Luger on top of our list. We've just finished examining it."

"Let me guess," he said in a resigned tone. "It's not real."

"You're good. This baby gave us a hard time, but we even found out where the pistol originated. There's a manufacturer in San Mateo who officially sells replicas of the original ACP Luger. He reports that five of them, still unbranded, were stolen. Somebody used at least one of them to forge a nice expensive collectible. Not a bad profit margin, I'd say."

"Thank you."

"No, thank you. This was way more fun than reconstructing ballistic trajectories."

Lassiter put the phone back into his pocket. "I'll be damned," he sighed. "I don't know how he does it, but I swear I'll find out one day."


	10. Epilogue: The Truth about My Lie

**Epilogue – ****The Truth about My Lie**

Shawn knew where he was without opening his eyes. He would have expected at least a moment of disorientation, foggy memories and nausea, but except for the surprisingly dull pain in his shoulder and skull and a certain drowsiness, all of which were probably directly related to top-shelf pain medication, he could not find fault with his situation. Everything around him was soft, clean and dry, and a delicate hand was holding his. He also clearly remembered what had happened, and felt fully capable of appreciating that it was over. He finally opened his eyes and noted with some astonishment that the hospital room was practically stuffed with people. Well, maybe not stuffed, but there was, as expected, Juliet attached to the delicate hand, and his father and Gus slumped on chairs that did not look in the least comfortable. What totally threw him, though, was the ice-blue look cast at him by a slim figure in a grey suit standing in the farthermost corner of the room. It was Lassiter. Before he had seen him, Shawn had intended to say something memorable or, in consideration of Juliet's sitting by his bedside, at least something cute, but all that came out was: "What are _you_ doing here?"

"Waiting to pick up O'Hara."

"Couldn't you have waited outside? No, that's not what I meant. Don't be so gruffy. I'm touched that you'd stand guard by an injured man's bed."

Lassiter stepped closer. "How?" he asked. "How could you know about the Luger?"

"The who?"

"The gun. Who told you about it?"

"The bullet did." He let go of Juliet's hand and pointed at his shoulder. "What? You of all people should know that firearms do tell stories. Yeah, they talk to each other, and if there's nobody else around, they'll even talk to their ammunition. Although they don't really take the little urchins seriously, but hey, what don't you do when you're lonely. And man, that fake gun surely was the talk of the town recently."

"I give up." Lassiter shook his head. "I'll be outside," he said to Juliet. "And I just want to let you both know that you two did a …" His expression became somewhat pained, "good job out there." His look turned sinister. "And, Spencer – if you're interested in some advice from me, go ask your friend Guster what I told him about screwing it up."

Shawn looked at Gus, who shook his head and quickly looked the other way.

"Come back later, Lassie," he called after the detective. "I'll give you the story in a nutshell. And bring…", the door fell shut. "I was going to say, bring pretzels. How are you doing?" Shawn asked Juliet, who looked tired out, with a blanket around her shoulders, but her hair and clothes dry again.

"I'm fine," she replied. "A few stitches, that's all. They're letting me go home. I just wanted to see that you're okay."

Henry and Gus stood up and approached the bed.

"Me too," said Gus. "But I've got to go now. I finally got that appointment with the new internist in Bel Air, and I think it's gonna pay for our new laptop."

"Sweet. Go get him."

Gus gave him a fist-bump goodbye, smiled at Juliet and left.

Shawn sighed. "Jules, I'm kind of thirsty. Could you get me some water, please?"

"Shawn, you're on a drip," his father reminded him.

"But my mouth is dry. And I'm hungry, too. I could go for something sweet right now."

Juliet stood up. "I could use a coffee anyway. I'll be right back. Would you like anything?" She looked at Henry, who returned a puzzled glance.

"Well, if you're getting coffee anyway…"

"I'll bring two." She kissed Shawn on the forehead. "See you in a minute."

After the door had closed behind her, Henry rolled his eyes. "Okay, what's this about? Water and a snack? Why did you want Juliet out of the room?"

Shawn remained silent for a second, gathering his thoughts. "When we were out there, I wanted to tell her everything," he then said lowly.

His father did not need to ask what 'everything' meant. "Why didn't you?" he asked.

"We kind of got interrupted. Repeatedly. Anyway, it seemed important back there, even crucial."

"And now it doesn't anymore?"

"It does. But in the face of death, it's way easier to come out with the complicated stuff."

"You need to tell her, son. You can't base your relationship on a lie."

"Base, what? No. What we have has nothing to do with my being a psychic."

"Pretending to be."

"Whatever. That's not why she likes me. Nobody likes a psychic. We're like mimes. People may applaud, but deep inside, they're creeped out by us."

"You're not gonna get out of this one by making up weird comparisons. She thinks you had supernatural abilities, and you're right, in the end she probably won't care if it's true. I'm pretty sure she'll like you just as much for being a bright young man with deductive skills that outclass some merited police officers who I've known, for being there when she needs you, for having your heart in the right spot, and, why the hell not, even for riding that stupid motorcycle." Henry firmly put his index finger on Shawn's chest. "But this isn't about why she likes you, right? This is about the job, isn't it? You're scared that they'll kick you out, that you'll be back at where you were five years ago. Out there without a goal in your life, without a place where you can be useful."

"Yeah. Yeah, maybe you're right. And you know what? I have every right to be scared. What am I gonna do if they don't let me go on? You think they're going to let me keep Psych? I don't think so. Lassie will be thrilled to nail me for fraud, even though they'll probably let me get off with a slap on the wrist considering what I've done for them. But what am I supposed to do then? Sure, I could work at a Belgian waffle house, or I could offer pedicab rides through downtown L.A. – but I like what I'm doing right now. And I can't believe I'm saying this, but I don't want to go back to running around skipping from one random job to another."

Henry smiled. "Looks like you're finally growing up."

"And where does that get me? Everything was just fine the way it was. If I tell Jules the truth, it'll all start falling apart."

"That's assuming she won't keep it to herself."

"She has to tell Lassie, or even Chief Vick. She wouldn't be the fine cop that she is if she didn't tell at least one of them."

Henry gently patted Shawn on his sound shoulder. "I knew the truth from the beginning. And I didn't give you away. That's because I knew you weren't going to screw it. Don't you think she might have just as much faith in you?"

"That is probably the toughest question you have ever asked me, and you've set the bar pretty high."

"Think about it. You don't want her to find out five years into a relationship. And, more importantly, I can see that you want her to know. Relationships need secrets, but if there is one thing you need to share with her, it's this. You need to trust her. How else is she supposed to trust you?" The door was opened, and Juliet came back inside with two paper cups filled with coffee, a bottle of water and a small box with donuts. "I'll go home," Henry said. "Catch up on some sleep, take a shower. I'll be back tonight."

"Bye, Dad."

"Bye, Shawn. Thanks, Juliet." He took his coffee, nodded to her and left.

Juliet put her coffee and the donuts on the bedside table and opened the water bottle. "Here." She offered it to Shawn. He sipped, then slowly put the bottle down.

"Do you trust me?" he asked abruptly.

"What?"

"Do you trust me?"

"Of course I do. What's going on?"

"I mean, do you really trust me? Do you believe that whatever I do or have done, I would never mean to harm you, and all I want is for you to be happy?"

"Okay, now you're starting to scare me. Where are you going with this?"

"I just want you to know that you can trust me with your life."

She stroked his cheek. "I've done that, Shawn. More than once, actually. And I don't regret it."

"Thank you. Please know that this is never going to change. Whatever happens, I'll be there for you." He drew a deep breath and looked into her eyes. "Jules, there's something I need to tell you."


End file.
